


Life If They Were Lucky

by Curlsandcollege



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Celebrations, Dancing, F/M, Future Plans, Kissing, Multi, Parties, immediately post canon, post azure moon, that old faerghus repression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curlsandcollege/pseuds/Curlsandcollege
Summary: Soldiers marched on their stomachs, but they celebrated in their throats. They drank and sang and cried and bellowed louder than anyone could ever imagine.There was an old tradition in Faerghus, a superstition really. Don't celebrate until the war is won. Don't make plans for a future you're not sure you'll see.The war is won, and life is suddenly not on pause. An evening of celebration is laced with possibility. With hope. With endings. With beginnings.Various couples at the fall of Enbarr. Engagements, first kisses, bittersweet ends, the possibility of a future, new goals, and a future purposely left open.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Caspar von Bergliez/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Marianne von Edmund, Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc & My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: That Old Faerghus Repression





	Life If They Were Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> A few short vignettes about some couples right as the war ends

Soldiers marched on their stomachs, but they celebrated in their throats. They drank and sang and cried and bellowed louder than anyone could ever imagine.

  
  
Faerghans were known for their subdued nature, their discipline. Soldiers from Leicester and Adrestia had learned that the Kingdom army didn’t celebrate small battles. Small victories were to be honored in small ways.  
  
Even the feast after retaking Fhirdiad had been relatively somber and mild, more for the citizens of the newly freed city than the soldiers who bled for its liberation.  
  
Faerghans didn’t celebrate victory until the war was won.  
  


But after the war was won?  
  
Boy did they shed their inhibitions. 

All bets were off, they had five years of victories to commemorate after all. 

* * *

Felix Fraldarius had never in his life seen Annette so drunk. She swayed to the music, singing loudly to an old victory song that she couldn’t quite remember the lyrics to, but her own improvised words were surely funnier and twice as passionate.  
  


“If the LION SLEEPS then old dressmaker WEEPS and DEERS are CLEAR with FEEEAAARRR.” 

It made his heart hammer in his chest to see her so free. 

She was certainly the loudest voice in the army, an arm tossed carelessly over his shoulder to keep herself upright. Her steps had been unsteady for the better part of an hour, her battalion of dancers abandoning her into his care when she could no longer keep up with their rapid turns around the party. Annette looked up at him from the circle of his arms, and admitted she was completely magically tapped and surely that decreased her tolerance.  
  
Her tolerance was, notably, about as small as she was.  
  
The four pints of fine Adrestian ale probably weren’t helping matters. Not that Felix was much better off, his Battalion had taken out a demonic beast that was blocking the way to the throne room and everyone kept pouring him more, more, more ale for the General. He should have stopped when he’d sloshed his first pint all over the street but somehow it was full again in short order.  
  
One hand with ale, another wrapped around Annette who was here and alive and they’d both survived and lived and he would surely be deaf in the morning from Annette’s singing but it would be a small price to pay for all of this unbridled joy.  
  
Annette stumbled again and Felix managed to maneuver them tipsily to a small crate on the side of the street. He leaned and kissed her as she took a pause from the song. Her lips were warm and tasted like the bitter drink and it felt nearly perfect- it was blasted warm in Enbarr and Felix had long shed his jacket and Annette’s cape somewhere on a supply convoy. They’d collect their things later, or not. It was fine. It would all be fine.  
  
Annette kissed him one more time, a playful peck on the cheek before whispering, “Felix I don’t think I’ve ever been so, _hic_ , happy in my whole life.” Her beaming smile and bright red face softened Felix further. He’d held her at arms length for so long, together but with the looming uncertainty of an untold future ahead. 

  
A future suddenly and all at once assured. If only she’d join him. She should. She’d promised, in her own way.  
  
Felix felt drunk and brave and a little reckless when he looked her straight in the eye and declared, “Annette we should get married.”  
  
Annette grinned further, not shocked but emboldened. “Now?” 

“No not…” and he considered for a moment. “Well why not? Why not now?” 

  
That could work. It was already a party. There were hundreds of witnesses. Everyone he cared about was here. Why not? 

Annette gasped and took a long sip of her drink, distracted “This tastes horrible you know? We should get more.”  
  
He gently turned her face towards him, trying to keep her focused on the world’s most important matter. 

“Let’s get married. Tonight, here.”  
  
Annette slapped the wood crate, amused, “Right here?”  
  
“Not here exactly. Well. I would, would you?” The mood of the evening was getting to him, Felix was not immune to hope any longer. Even the moment it took for Annette to process his words was far too long for her answer.  
  
“Yes Felix I WOULD! Then nobody can separate us ever again. But we should find someone to do it, we can’t just marry ourselves you know. Gotta find… The professor? I bet the professor would do it. Hey! Let’s go find the professor and get married tonight.” 

They didn’t. 

A better song started up and Annette asked Felix to dance with her and their elopement plan was lost in music and movement and three more drinks. The next morning they both, red faced, recounted their memory of the night before and realized maybe they should start talking about their future. 

* * *

The knife wound in Dimitri’s shoulder wasn’t terrible. He’d certainly suffered worse, and he was in a much stronger place to heal from it. His crest had certainly kept him alive, the goddess looking out for him in his times of need.  
  
There was no goddess here tonight, but Marianne could keep him safe.  
  
“It’s likely to scar, I’m sorry Dimitri.” Marianne apologized. Her healing had started too late. Edelgard’s last act in life had been ineffective at best, but the knife landed in an awkward spot where the white magic could only help so much.  
  
Dimitri refused to be attended to until Dedue found her and told her that His Majesty was bleeding into his armor, turning white from the loss, and people were starting to notice. 

Dimitri allowed Marianne to pull him into a small side room in Enbarr Palace. Empty, save for some paintings and benches. A gallery, private, quiet enough.  
  
He glanced down at where Marianne’s hands had been resting, pouring clean healing energy into his wound. Now covered by a cloth bandage, his shirt pooling at his waist, mostly ruined at this point. “I’ve had plenty of scars in my life. May this be the last for a while.”  
  
“Last ever.” Marianne demanded meekly. A prayer. May his troubles be over forever. Ignorant, silly, but still her deepest hope.  
  
Dimitri cracked a smile, his eye crinkling pleasantly, “You’ve clearly never seen me try to thread a needle.”  
  
He held his hand out as proof, lined with tiny pinpricks and scars.  
  
“Sewing needles shouldn’t do that.” Marianne wondered quietly, grabbing one of his hands to examine the damage closer.  
  
“My strength is a burden. I was not meant to be an embroiderer, alas.” 

Marianne managed to crack a tiny smile at his joke, looking up into his eye. Had he ever looked so boyish before?  
  
The world was celebrating but Dimitri’s work had just begun. Tonight though, tonight was for merriment.  
  
What did merriment mean for people like her? 

“I can’t either. Hilda tried to teach me once. It was… I failed terribly.” 

Dimitri laughed softly, “So we shan’t embroider. And we’ll have no more scars between us.”  
  
He leaned down to where Marianne was kneeling and brushed his lips gently against hers. His lips were chapped, rough, but his body was so warm and he radiated a kindness that made Marianne soften, lean into his embrace.  
  
He’d never done that before.  
  
Nobody had ever done that before, with her. Her head swam and her heart pounded as if she’d run a thousand miles.  
  
Dimitri smiled again, boyish and hopeful, “I hope I’m not too forward by saying this but, now that it is all over, I… I would wish for us to be closer. In the future. I value you too highly to lose you.”  
  
“You… value me?” Marianne’s heart was still beating quickly, oh so quickly.  
  
“I… I care for you very deeply Marianne von Edmund.”  
  
They were both disgusting, still battle torn and with no small amount of remnants of Dimitri’s injury on both of their clothes.  
  
But a small moment, much still left unsaid, felt more perfect than Marianne ever let herself deserve.  
  
Yet as she looked into his eye, matching his small smile with her own, joy bubbling in her chest, Marianne let herself want more.  
  
“I care for you far more than you’ll ever know Dimitri.” 

* * *

Sylvain was going home.  
  
Not immediately, tonight he was kissing her in full view of everyone as if both of their lives depended on it. Drunk soldiers cheered or rolled their eyes or some combination of both, well used to their antics. Sylvain grinned wolfishly and Dorothea grabbed him by the hair and kissed him back. Sylvain was here, with her, tonight.  
  
But he was Faerghan and men like him went home, were bound back home, to their duties and families.  
  
Not yet. No, there was still time to treasure the lingering bits of their tryst. Their friendship. The comfort they found in each other.  
  
Dorothea felt more alive in his arms. Happier. He reminded her there was more than fighting, her body could do more than kill and hurt.  
  
She never felt safer than when they were together.

Yet sand ran through the hourglass labeled Sylvain and Dorothea and they both knew it was running to the end.  
  
The band was playing, friends of hers from her opera days who were just happy the war was over at long last. Life could go back to what it was before.  
  
Before the war sent every resource to the front line and fortresses.  
  
Before every day was an exercise in when would this all be over.   
  
Everyone played on, unsure what was to become of them. The spaces of uncertainty called for music, expression of joy.  
  
Tomorrow one could try to picture Adrestia without an Emperor.  
  
Tomorrow Dorothea could picture life without Sylvain.  
  
Today, she could dance, holding onto him for dear life, laughing in his face when he asked her to come home with him.  
  
Men like him spoke of love, of loyalty, of future plans. She was fond enough to believe better of him, but Sylvain was selfish with women, relationships. Men could speak of tomorrow tonight, but they always left in the morning.  
  
Dorothea didn’t realize she would be foolish enough to follow in time. 

* * *

  
  
“Is Dimitri okay?” Mercedes' voice broke Dedue from his own thoughts as he maintained watch outside of the palace.  
  
“Yes. Marianne is with him. He… He’s more willing to trouble her. I apologize for not coming for you. It is not about my regard for you as a healer.” Dedue said calmly, not leaving his post in front of the door even as his posture slacked just a bit at her presence.  
  
“No, I heard that he was bleeding in the middle of the celebration so I came running. I’m just glad someone is attending to him at all.” Mercedes smiled in relief that it was Marianne, who was far better at getting through Dimitri’s own disregard for his safety than she ever would be.  
  
Speaking of…  
  
“You’re not celebrating?” Mercedes asked gently, approaching Dedue quietly enough that her boots wouldn’t disturb anyone inside.  
  
Dedue shook his head, “I have other priorities. The army surrendered but that does not mean there will not be opportunistic individuals.”  
  
“Can we celebrate here? What would be a celebration for you? There’s still food left, I can make you a plate. You can stand guard and eat. I’d know.” Mercedes gave him a small smile, a genuine one, as Dedue’s gaze widened in thought.  
  
“I appreciate your effort, but it will be difficult for me to relax until we return to Fhirdiad.” 

Mercedes tried not to sigh at his refusal. Dedue struggled to relax even within his own rooms and favorite places. Even in his free time, he was always working for others. His hands into dirt, nourishing and pruning plants in the garden. Attending the kitchen, ensuring there was food palatable to everyone’s tastes and tolerances.

Dedue put her first in their private moments. Stolen in dorm rooms and empty classrooms and one time the Cathedral which still made Mercedes blush when she remembered. He was endlessly giving, seeing to her needs always before indulging his own. Checking in with her a thousand times before Mercedes did anything that solely pleasured him, never truly believing that she too enjoyed caring for him, showing him how he was loved and appreciated and valuable.  
  
With her he was allowed to be a person in his own right, with his own wants and needs and desires.  
  
Their relationship was quiet. Private. Two people who lived solely for others each allowing themselves one bit of private indulgence, together. 

There wasn’t a label or a true intention for who they were, what they were. There was an old Faerghan tradition about not making formal plans while fighting in a war, and while neither of them were from Faerghus it felt taboo to pretend they knew what tomorrow would bring.  
  
They talked vaguely of a future. Visiting Duscur together while the flowers bloomed. Dimitri would return to Fhirdiad and Dedue would follow where he went. Mercedes family was there as well, convenient. They’d see each other, if they wanted. 

Mercedes wanted. She wanted so deeply it hurt- she’d never held on to much in her life, not for long. A country, a family, a calling. Mercedes had spent far more than five years ready to pick up and move, change everything at a moment's notice.  
  
She hoped this wouldn’t change.  
  
“You must be excited to see your mother again.” Dedue said quietly.  
  
“Yes, well, it has been a very long time. She worries, she does not understand my life but she is happy I am leading it as I wish to.” Her mother wanted her to go to the school of sorcery. Wanted her to join the Kingdom army. Helped distract her step father so she could attend the reunion a year ago. 

“I don’t understand.”  
  
Mercedes tried to collect her thoughts. How to explain the complexities, to defend her mother who was truly good and kind and giving in her heart. “My mother never lived for herself. She protected me as best she could, but she was always controlled by her husbands. She doesn’t want that for me.”  
  
“A husband?” Dedue asked quietly and Mercedes heart skipped then fell.  
  
“No well… I don’t know if she wants that for me. She’s assumed, I guess, that I would get married.” She never protested an engagement attempt, at the least. She just looked on sadly. 

“She assumes but doesn’t want what she takes for granted?” Dedue clarified, still puzzled by Mercedes’ explanation. 

  
She found her words, sure and clear, “She doesn’t want me to be controlled by anyone. She wants me to have something more valuable than a crest.”  
  
Dedue reached for her hand, his warmth already enveloping, even as his hands were wrapped from battle, “Mercedes you are far more valuable than your blood.” 

And this, Mercedes realized, was why she loved him. Dedue would perhaps not always put her first, but he saw to the core of who she was, what she had been through, and believed her worthy for her own sake. 

Mercedes look a quick look around the area and risked a small peck on the cheek. Dedue blushed and turned towards the door, and risked a small brush of lips together before straightening up and resuming his post.  
  
“I would like to find you later tonight… If that’s okay.” He said quietly.  
  
“That is always okay. Truly, I want you to find me always.”  
  
He shook his head, “No, you have work that is far more important than indulging me.”  
  
“I find few things more important than indulging you, us. And if you refuse to celebrate until Fhirdiad, we’ll throw a party in Fhirdiad too.” She teased.  
  
Dedue shrugged and Mercedes smiled again as his composure cracked into his lovely warm smile.   
  
They’d take care of each other. 

* * *

Hilda couldn’t find Caspar anywhere.  
  
She’d demanded time to freshen up before the celebration, change from her sweaty battle clothes. She told Caspar to meet her in the main square, near the band. He was a terrible dance partner, too enthusiastic and quick to go off rhythm in his exuberance. Hilda found she didn’t mind and loved the way he smiled and laughed and held her and lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all. 

She’d looked forward to dancing with him all afternoon, wandering through the wreckage. There were advantages to being from the Alliance. Well, former Alliance. Leicester region. 

One was that there were no responsibilities for her now that the fighting was done. Marianne had been healing all afternoon. Lorenz was off inserting himself into politics. Hilda was left to her own devices to heal and process and make herself look incredible. 

She was not pulled into emergency meetings to determine the terms of surrender.  
  
She was close enough to those who had to hear rumors. 

Hence, searching for Caspar. 

The dull roar of the crowd elevated briefly, as she heard a familiar voice yell out, “Watch your mouth!”  
  
Hilda followed the sounds of brawling to where, by the time she arrived, Caspar was being pulled off of some Faerghan soldier by Raphael. Caspar tried to wrench himself out of the giant man’s grip, his muscles straining and the little vein in his forehead popping in exertion.  
  
Hilda picked up the pace, trying to interrupt, intervene, stop whatever was happening.  
  
“Hey Caspar you’re late!” She said breezily, as if he wasn’t forming a bruise on the side of his face already. Linhardt would be pissed, he’d spent some solid spells healing Caspar earlier.  
  
Caspar’s head turned as his body remained immobilized, “Sorry Hilda! I have to teach someone a lesson about talking about things he doesn’t understand.” His voice raised with every word he spoke, and Raphael gripped harder. “Sorry buddy, we’ve all done enough fighting.” 

“Caspar you promised me we’d dance. They’re playing great songs and the band’s only going to get drunker, we have to dance now!” She pouted and stomped her foot on the ground, emphasizing her point.  
  
Caspar looked over to where the Faerghus soldier was being dragged away by his own friends and acquiesced. “I did promise.” 

  
“You did, come on!” She held out her hand and Raphael released him into her custody.  
  
Dancing with Caspar was more fun than Hilda ever had with any nobleman. Well, any other nobleman. He gave up his title but who was to say what would happen now?  
  
Hilda always thought a second son would suit her best. No work of governing, ruling, making decisions. Caspar wanted to work, to help out, to make things better. He was an endlessly good person and she could appreciate that, admire that. Admire him for his gusto and cheer. 

Tonight Caspar was uncharacteristically quiet, following the steps with only cursory passion. Hilda held in her worry, tried not to speak or upset him. She didn’t understand. She knew she didn’t understand.  
  
But she could help, maybe.  
  
“I bet you would have won, had Raph not intervened.” Hilda smiled, trying to cheer him up.  
  
“Don’t coddle me, I was sloppy.”  
  
Hilda’s stomach dropped at her failure and the first drops of guilt started falling. No, no, that wouldn’t do. She tried again.  
  
“That’s okay, you won’t need to do much more fighting for a while, right? You’ll have to keep these around for me though.” She asked sweetly, squeezing at his bicep. He usually liked that, the reminder he was strong, her small hands hardly covering a portion of the muscle. 

Caspar frowned miserably, “I don’t know Hilda.” 

“You’re going to go around picking fights?” She snipped, annoyed. Caspar stopped in his tracks, hands pulling away from her waist, standing still in the middle of the dancers.  
  
“I don’t think so but they were! Ugh. Forget it.” Caspar stormed off down an alley and Hilda followed, idly wondering if he had a destination.  
  
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Hilda called out, waving her hands to get his attention.  
  
“No! I don’t know anything anymore!” Caspar’s voice thickened. “Do you know? Did you hear Hilda?” 

Caspar’s father turned himself in, his life for the enlisted soldiers. Count Bergliez was executed that afternoon behind the palace in Enbarr. His sacrifice was an example- quarter given, the war won. No need to keep fighting. A clean end. Let everything have a clean end. 

Hilda went soft for a moment, trying to comfort without coddling him. It was difficult for her, at times. Hilda wanted soft touches in her life, gentleness in all things. That hurt him even worse.  
  
So she approached him head on with her sympathy.  
  
“I’m sorry about your dad Caspar.” 

“Yeah me too. It’s fine. He was an Imperial general. He saved a lot of people. He killed a lot of people too.” Caspar didn’t cry, didn’t betray much of his emotions, merely took a deep breath and slid down an alley wall to the ground. “I knew this would end with him dead. I’m not stupid.” 

“You’re not.” Hilda affirmed. He wasn’t. Not in the way that mattered. “You know, you could come home with me, if you wanted. Holst would love to punch- I mean spar with you.” 

  
Caspar rubbed his face, “Thanks but I think… I’m not going to go home. Anyone’s home. Not yet. There’s going to be so many bad guys out there trying to take advantage of everything going on and I think I can help. I haven’t spent any time here in almost six years, I think I’ll start in Varley. There’s some people who need to be punched in Varley.” Caspar made a fist and grinned, and it just about broke Hilda’s heart.  
  
“I can come with you, you know.” She offered. That could be fun. They could be together, see the country. Hilda could collect flowers and study fashions worn by people who weren’t required to train hours every day. She could make bets and cheer Caspar on in bar fights as he won them free room and board for the night while between territories.  
  
They could screw in every noble house in Fodlan. Faerghus especially. That could be fun.  
  
Caspar furrowed his brows, disagreeing. “You won’t like it. Road, travel. It’s rough. It’s dirty. I wouldn’t want to force you into that life.”  
  
And Hilda understood what he meant. He’d told her stories of his five years of wandering. Sleeping on the side of the road, in hay lofts. Taking kindness, repaying it tenfold.  
  
It sounded like a terrible way to live one’s life, if she was being honest. But still...  
  
“You’re not forcing me Caspar. I’m not easily forced.”  
  
He smiled playfully, “Even by me?”  
  
Hilda knew the ground was surely disgusting and would ruin her clean dress. Yet she knelt on the group and kissed him, holding him by the back of the head when she whispered against his lips, “Sometimes by you.” 

They eventually rejoined the dance, screaming and hollering to the music, to old Faerghan fight songs they eventually picked up the words to- Faerghans weren’t too creative and there were only so many synonyms for “Victory.”  
  
Hilda ended the night dirty and exhausted and realized that she couldn’t remember the last time she had that much fun.  
  
She wouldn’t let him go without her. 

* * *

“So what’s next?” Yuri’s voice alerted Byleth to his presence before she saw him stepping out of the shadow of a column.  
  
She’d climbed up to the balcony to be alone, process a bit of what had happened. Edelgard dead. War over. Rhea safe, but sick. Her students all making plans to scatter to the wind, back to homes to start their real lives.  
  
Byleth was still unused to being alone. Yet, Yuri always seemed to appear when she felt a pang of something, someone, who was no longer always voicing thoughts in her head.  
  
Yuri had redone his makeup before joining the party, he did not look as if he had dodged a dozen Demonic attacks just that morning even though she had seen it happen. Yuri had luck on his side and Byleth appreciated it more than he would ever know.  
  
Byleth never turned the hands of time for Yuri.  
  
She answered him, “I’ll return to Garreg Mach. Rhea still intends to step down to watch her health. Seteth says I’ll become archbishop.” 

Yuri waved his hand dismissively, “No, no, I know all that. But what’s next? You’ve no army to command now. Where do you go from here?”  
  
Byleth frowned, frustrated, “Garreg Mach.” 

“And what will you **do** there?” He pushed, a tone in his voice hinting at the importance of the question.  
  
Byleth took a guess, reassuring, “Yuri I intend to maintain the Abyss, I think there will be others with no place to go after this settles.” 

Yuri laughed, closing the space between the two of them, elegantly sitting down next to her, “That was never a question. But have you thought about being the Archbishop at all?”  
  
“I’ll lead the Knights of Serios. We’ll rebuild the academy, maybe I’ll teach. It’s not so different.” Byleth puzzled, still unsure of all of these questions.  
  
She liked Yuri, she really did. He never treated her like she was some otherworldly being because she didn’t have a normal upbringing. He didn’t hero worship her, or stop challenging her. But they had a respect, a mutual understanding.  
  
He called her adorable, once. It was a new word. Not unpleasant, when he said it. 

Byleth didn’t always understand attraction, or flirting. Yuri wielded it like a weapon, and from that she learned, just a little, how that was just another tool to be used.  
  
Not with her, never with her. With her he was as honest as a man like him ever could be. Their missions were parallel. They could rely on each other.  
  
He began flipping a small dagger, noting playfully, “You’ll be the lord aboveground, and I’ll be the lord under, that’s it?”  
  
“You’ve been under me for a year, General.” 

Yuri raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze for a moment before he dissolved into laughter.  
  
“You are truly an original, Archbishop to be. We should talk, back at Garreg Mach. I think we’ll have much to work on together.” 

* * *

  
The night crept later and later into dawn, the music never stopped and the revelry continued.  
  
Faerghans didn’t celebrate until the war was won. They didn’t make plans for the future. They lived in the moment, preparing only for battle. For death, or life if they were lucky.  
  
The war was won.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
